I wiped my eyes as I walked down Mass Ave. through the morning commute of the respectable working class. Upon looking down at the traces of black on my hand, I realized I had gone to sleep with full make up on last night and therefore my lips were still painted bright red. I hunched into my black thrift shop blazer, uncomfortably aware that it’s barely wool shell plus my thin polka dot sweater (red, it matched my dry lipsticked pucker) was hardly appropriate for winter attire. I was trying to get my hair out of my face as I tickled my nose scrunching it up when a young gentleman in a suit and slouched hat walked past me and gave me a look that can only be described as ‘endearing admiration.’ I smiled, liking the recognition and slight flirt when I looked to my left at my reflection in the Au Bon Pan store front. Fuck. No. Not me. This can’t be happening.

My Ukulele clanged up against my thigh with a hollowed chord progression.

I am what I hate.
I’m a manic pixie.

I’m cynical, or want to be cynical enough to hate things like She & Him and hipsters. I roll my eyes at Natalie Portman and Zooey. I thought Kate Winslett’s character in Eternal Sunshine was just trying so damn hard.

Hate.

I’m an improv comedian. I wear my hair in pin up styles and hats that look like I stepped out of 1945. I find myself skipping or dancing when I have no business. I have ‘Diesel’ in cursive tattooed on my ass. Let me repeat: I took up the Ukulele.

The worst part? I’ve always been this sterotype. I can’t help it, and I didn’t realize it. I fucking giggle. When teaching improv I’ve been known to give such notes as “Sprinkle on the Jams and put them in the sky.” When I date, a certain type of guy falls hard and fast for me in the first two weeks while my disshoveled traits are still adorable. Don’t worry; they soon become the things men hate the most. I imagine it goes like this:

First two weeks.

They wake up in the morning and I’m gone for work and step out of bed into a nest of bobby pins. These tiny carpet ants lead a trail around the room like I was Gretel trying to find her way home. They smile, and laugh to themselves shaking their head thinking “she’s so cute,” stashing the collection in an unused ashtray, or more likely a drawer they’ve already assigned to me.

Post two weeks.

They wake up in the morning stepping in those same pins and resent me. Biting their lips and shaking their head thinking “she’s a fucking mess,” throwing the pins in my drawer which they keep packing up for me to take home while I leave other things behind.

I really don’t try to be this. I’m not self aware enough to know in the moment when I’m cooking not using a recipe telling my partner “My heart tells me what to do” that I am disgusting. Yes, I see it now and I’m completely aware. In the moment: never.

I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck like this. I’m cursed. I didn’t ask for big pleading blue eyes and a vague talent for all of the arts. I really am distressed by this. Yes, I’m aware of it now but it’s not going to change anything.

As I type this, I’ve noticed the keyboard feels funny on my left finger tips because they’re callused from playing a sing songy version of ‘Hey Ya’ on the Uke.

I don’t have much to say. I’ve been anxious the past few days and I can’t quite put my finger on why. Of course, I have some theories but they don’t seem to fit. I wen’t from carefree and easy (albeit a bit irresponsible) this summer to hunching my shoulders and being on edge lately. Where did my confidence go? There has to be a happy medium, right? Shake it off, lady!

I’m working on it, I’ll let you know what I come up with. In the mean time here is a post from October 23rd, 2002. Mitt was running for Governor of Massachusetts. I still don’t know how to accurately voice my political feelings without getting overly passionate and talking in circles with little eloquence. So, I’ll say it the best I can: Mitt Romney still sucks.

I had the worst headache ever at rehearsal tonight. I felt horrible. My acting was atrocious. I have so much to work on.

Pooh.

I miss Shep.Yes, you Shep. It’s not like I can do anything about it, cause you live in Boston and I’m all the way out here and I won’t be home till November 11th, and there is a small chance I will see you… but I was thinking about Malibu today, and I just thought I would let you know that I miss you.

Last night I got a surprising text from an IB friend turned motorcycle wanderlust MB that on her adventures she was staying at her boyfriends buddies house in New York. Turns out, the beau’s buddy is none other that my first love.

I’m sure I’ve talked about Tom in this project before. While he wasn’t my first boyfriend, he was the first one that defined my perception of romantic love and in a way, sexuality. In fact, every man I’ve had a serious relationship with since Tom has reminded me a little of him.

I tend to date tall men who are brilliant. I know many people think that intelligence is sexy, and honestly I wouldn’t be friends with you if you didn’t. The men I date tend to be a cut even above what the standard perception of intelligence. Tom was (and I’m assuming still is) extremely gifted in all areas of academia. I remember him scoring through the roof on his PSAT’S which led him to a special summer program at Penn State for poetry. That summer I went to Boston University for a theater intensive and those six weeks apart were the pin that broke us.

I like to be challenged. If left to my own devices I could easily waste the day making daisy chains and and sprinkling fairy dust upon the world. That’s not to say that I don’t find academia important – it’s just in a romantic partner if they aren’t interested in the wicked smart things I find no reason to try and impress them with my wits. I’ve gone on enough dates this past year to figure out that I have an extremely small threshhold for anything less than scholarly.

It also falls into the tough guy category for me. While it would be nice to have a guy that could kick someone’s ass if they threatened me, more important is that they can defend their beliefs with backed up knowledge. One of the things I most admired about Mooney was his retention of information. A bigot quotes the bible damning my gay friends? He would come back with three different scriptures and a butt load of facts. Heh. Butt load.

I suppose while looking at this I should note that these type of men are attracted to me as well. I am certainly not going to claim to have any where close to the IQ of those I date. But there must be something about my spontaneous absentminded manic pixie girl mentality that they find attractive. I suppose I should give them all a survey. I’m not going to do that.

What have I learned since Tom? Not much. I’ve learned that I like smart, perhaps a little socially awkward dudes that I can pull out of their shell and they can keep me on my toes. I mean, just look at the Dr.

Uh… Guys… I’m FINE. Here’s a little thing you have to know about me, I love to paint a dramatic picture. Yeah things are a little rocky with the Dr. right now but not so much that like, I’m gonna pitch myself off the Tobin. In fact we had a pretty awesome time together yesterday and this morning.

Since yesterday’s post people have asked me (or those close to me) if I’m “ok.”

Yeah guys! I’m totally okay! Promise! So read my blog as a the flowery life lesson that I’m making it and I promise I’ll tell you when things aren’t ok. Or, you know, talk to my therapist.

What have I learned since yesterday? Dunkin Donuts has unsweetened Peach iced tea and its the tits.

The first time I heard the Mountain Goats I was 18 years old. I was living in New York on the 22nd floor of a peculiar dorm/apartment hybrid in Midtown Manhattan and it was two months after that thing that went down on September 11th. I don’t know why that last fact is important but somehow I felt like I needed to include it or I’m not American or something. My downstairs neighbor called me to come to her room because I had to listen to this song:

That night I just know I went back upstairs to my computer and put the lyrics “The most remarkable thing about you standing in the door way is that it’s you, and that you’re standing in the doorway” on my IM away message. That song started a huge love affair with the band which more often than not consisted of Jon Darnell with just a guitar and perhaps a bassist to back him up.

:::moop:::

I’m having a bit of a hard time with my current relationship. I’ve decided I’m going to be completely candid on this blog because if there is anything I learned from the girl I once was it’s cryptic entries on the internet help no one. Also, John Perich once said in reference to this blog “Shannon’s touching and hilarious; give her a read.” READ EVERYTHING THIS MAN WRITES CLEARLY HE KNOWS ABOUT GOOD THINGS AND HE WROTE A FUCKING BOOK…Oh, um… excuse me… I don’t know what happened there. So, um… I’ll let that boost my ego well over a year later and try to add honesty to that list of compliments.

There are two current major concerns in my current relationship:

I haven’t been a ‘fun’ girlfriend. I’ve been on this emotional roller coaster as mentioned in my previous entry that is less than desirable Ok… I’ll admit it: I’ve been a shitty girlfriend. I haven’t given my best to the person I care for and that just sucks. Who wants to be in that spot? I have all the excuses in the world why I’ve been like this: I’ve been tired, I’ve been sick, I haven’t had much time, my birth control is off, Romney exists… all of those are just excuses and I have to own that. I ended a relationship this year partly because we stopped trying and I’m beginning to see how easy that habit is to fall into. Well fuck that shit. I’m not gonna do that. I’m going to be the charming woman that I bring on all of my first dates to the whole shebang! It’s like as soon as we started to cook together and watch movies I went into robot 5 year relationship mode. No, thank you. Sex, learning new things about each other, and throwing panties off balconies for me, please.*

This other thing…. Ugh….Fuck…. I know I said I would be candid but I just can’t. While I can list all of my faults and arguably poor decisions on here, it’s not fair for me to speak on behalf of my significant other’s. Maybe if he leaves me broken and bitter lying in a bathtub while my roommates wash me while I sob over my broken heart. Maybe then I can write about things that make me say things like ‘my heart hurts’** and cry on the floor while throwing ultimatums at him.***. To get a sense of the issue it boils down to trust and relationship expectations. What is considered reasonable when it comes to requests of another person? When you lose trust how to you earn it back? When betrayal happens is everything tainted for ever and ever? If you have the answer to any of these things give me a buzz. From what I can tell it’s all about compromise, and…. Oh God… I’m going to say this… I’m sorry… love. It’s all about love. Suck it Shakespeare and your stupid sonnets.

:::Meep:::

Tonight the Dr. and I are going to see the Mountain Goats… I can’t confirm this, but I think I’ve seen them every year since I first heard Going to Georgia. I only want to go to this concert with someone I love, and share all my bests with but I’m nervous because as I said things with the Dr. are… rocky. I’m standing on the edge of the relationship cliff wondering what to do and what’s going to happen. Ugh. I love Hyperbole. Last night before some shit hit the fan I had the best time singing this:

While he strummed guitar. One thing I love about watching the Dr. play guitar is when he gets the hang of a bit he does a Ray Charles eyes closed head sway that I find the most endearing. That’s just one thing I love about him. There are a lot more than that one and that’s why I’m hanging on by my nails. I fight for that which I believe in. I want us to give it the Old College Try.

What have I learned from the girl I was last night? The girl that stood her ground on somethings and let others slide?

I’ve got to fight for it.

I need to be a better(read: considerate and giving) girlfriend.

I need to dig my heels in the mud and stick to my truths.

I need to prove to him, and more importantly to myself that we will work.

I learned that no one can make me feel crazy for the things I feel, especially when they’re very rational. (I would like to thank Jackie for always reminding me of that. In the car spilling out my problems yesterday she said “I’ll give you some of my rational” and I said “I’ll give you some of my emotions.” And then we laughed that laugh we both have that compliments each other beautifully)

Sometimes it’s totally legit to want to sleep in separate beds in the same house (someone remind me to tell them the Brad story from college)

Most importantly (and perhaps I’ve known this) I’m worth it. I’m a catch, and the kind of girl that deserves awesome. I just have to remember to give awesome to get awesome.

So yeah. Let’s go see some Mountain Goats tonight, huh? If they can’t find the right words for all my emotions then we’re all fucked.

The most remarkable thing about coming home to you,

is the feeling of being in motion again

(it’s the most extraordinary thing in the world)

I have two big hands and a heart pumping blood ,and a 1967 colt .45 with a busted safety catch.

The world shines as I cross the Macon county line

going to Georgia.

The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway

is that it’s you

(and that you’re standing in the doorway).

and you smile as you ease the gun from my hand

and I’m frozen with joy right where I stand

the world throws its light underneath your hair

forty miles from Atlanta, this is nowhere.

Going to Georgia

The world shines as I cross the Macon county line

Going to Georgia.

*The first time I threw my panties off his balcony because I thought it would be sexy. The second time it’s because they were spanx and I didn’t want him to see them when he came back in the room.

**Last night while talking about our own improv habits, Rachel used the example of “Like, we know Shannon’s going to take something that her character feels and relate it to how her heart hurts.” I’m paraphrasing but it’s so true. It’s a meism.

***Like Shane, the …. Gentleman… that I dated this summer – I walked in on him with another woman. I literally walked in the bedroom and went to sit on the bed to wake him up and there was another woman who’s foot I was touching. I’m sure we’ll talk about the lady I am now compared to the one I was when I was dating him.

I woke up on my couch this morning, and while laying there contemplating the past 24 hours and the day ahead I thought about this blog. I was sleeping on my couch because my cat peed in my bed. She’s new to us (her name is Emma) and there are all sorts of reasons she could have peed in my bed. I like to think she was punishing me for not being around as much as I should. Thank you, little blog, for not peeing in my bed even though I haven’t been around as much as I should.

When I started this project it was the idea that I would revisit the girl I once was in high school and college. For the most part that project has run its course, though occasionally I might revisit one… we’ll see what mood I’m in.

I am clearly not the girl I once was when I wrote my last post on June 15th, 2011. In that time my life has changed dramatically. I’ve lost 70 (plus) pounds, I’ve moved three times, I’ve grown as an improviser, I’ve started teaching comedy, and my boyfriend of 5 years and I ended our relationship. Oof. Big stuff, huh?

I’m a few months away from 30. Why does that number seem so heavy? Writing it drops like a dumbbell on my foot.

Here’s the thing, I’m not even what I once was yesterday – I can tell you several things that have changed from then to this morning on the couch. There was an earthquake (a minor and by no means life changing earth quake – but the earth moved). I’m still dating the same man who I’ve been for a mere two months, but we passed our break up date* something that I wasn’t so sure would happen. I went and saw the Canadian band Sloan and totally dug them. I took my coffee black – something I thought I hated but am getting used to. Look! I’m different!

It’s hard to be vulnerable. As a lady comedian I keep up my guard so often in an attempt to somehow prove myself. Doing that makes other parts of my life weaker – mainly when it comes to relationships. If all the emotions are going to be bottled up there has to be storage for them and there isn’t enough room for all the emotions of a 29 year old woman who’s “figuring it out” (as I like to tell myself). I’ve found myself crying at inopportune times and getting irrationally bitchy at things like stop lights and pencils and friends. I cried in reaction to facebook yesterday. FACEBOOK.

Enough of that already. Here I am starting a new outlet for myself exploring daily what I once was and seeing if there is anything to be learned from it.

So, Emma peed in my bed. What did I learn? I have a packed life, but I have to make time for the things that don’t seem as important but are. Let’s do this thing.

* Jokingly on one of our first dates the Dr. (what he shall be called for the purpose of this blog) invited me to see Sloan which was months away at that point. The addendum was “If you know, we’re still seeing each other.” That’s when we came up with the idea that it would be our break up date, you know, as a joke. HAHAHAHA. Ha. Heh. Ugh. Well, it came and went and it worked out. We made it and didn’t break up. I’m bad at deadlines so I haven’t counted my jelly beans as they say, but… this gentleman is teaching me new things about myself daily. That’s good. Really good.